


Win A Date With Chris Pine!

by Silent_So_Long



Category: Star Trek (2009), Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Date, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 03:09:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there are competitions, dates with actors and a douchey Chris Pine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Win A Date With Chris Pine!

**Author's Note:**

> This is ever so slightly AU, in which I’ve placed Zachary as a photographer and Karl as a reporter for Hello! Magazine instead of the actors we all know and love. Written for the following [pintoharlequin](http://pintoharlequin.livejournal.com) prompt - _WIN A DATE WITH CHRIS PINE! As a joke, one of Zach's friends enters him in a ridiculous contest to win a date with the one and only Chris Pine. He's shocked to discover he wins. But not as shocked as Chris, who was imagining a boring, and more importantly, safe date with a girl he'll have no interest in (women lacking a crucial anatomical feature for Chris). So when a nervous and stuttering Zach meets Chris, the actor is less than amused; irritated and acting spectacularly douchey to a bewildered Zach. Up to the author how the horrific date is saved (ie they discover their burning lust for each other and get.it.on.) and how it ends (just a one off or the chance for more?)._
> 
> This is also my first ever Pinto fic!

“WIN A DATE WITH CHRIS PINE!!!”

Zachary’s eyes scanned the text emblazoned in lurid colours across the top of the magazine page he was currently reading. The bold words denoted a new competition for the Hollywood actor‘s multitude of fans to win a once in a lifetime's chance of a date with him. Zachary shook his head at the picture of Chris Pine, bright blue eyes glittering up at him and rendered forever pretty in shiny ink upon page. A killer grin that sprinkled crinkles around those eyes seemed to shine right out at him, yet Zachary’s eyes kept returning to the text that blazed across the top of the page. He shook his head again, half thinking that he should enter the damn competition just to see if he would win. He knew, however, that he was kidding himself if he thought he would win. 

“He probably expects some hot girl anyway,” he muttered to himself, scratching his chin as he did so.

“Ya know, if you wanna enter that damn competition, you totally should do,” John said, as he leant over Zachary’s shoulder to scan dark eyes over the competition‘s fine print.

“Are ya kidding me, Cho? He probably wants some dumb blond broad to pretty up his arm, not someone like me. I was a guy last time I checked myself, you know,” Zachary replied in a louder voice, with a roll of his eyes at the other man. 

“Oh, so you mean he wants a beard. Right. Gotcha,” John replied, with a grin back at the scowling Zachary. “You’re probably right, though. Best not to enter after all, huh? No offence, Zach, but you‘d make one hell of a strange looking woman.”

Zachary merely grunted and turned the page on his magazine. He pretended to be interested in an article about the best way to cook cupcakes - with or without multi-coloured and multi-flavoured frostings - until John moved away to play video games loudly with Anton on the other side of their shared living space, Zachary sighed and turned the page again, until he found a far more interesting article, soon forgetting all about that damned competition.

~~~

Zachary was returning to his apartment a few days later, dog in muddy pawed tow, in time to catch the first shrill rings of his phone. He slammed the door closed, allowing Noah free run of the apartment while he answered the call. He tried not to think of how much damage a rain- and mud-soaked dog could cause to the upholstery, however; it wasn‘t as though he‘d had the time to give Noah a bath, after all. 

“Hello,” he said, into the phone’s receiver, expecting to hear the familiar tones of John on the other end, or perhaps Anton. 

It wasn’t either man, however. Instead, it was the brilliantly perky, too enthusiastic noise of a sales-rep or journalist, friendly New Zealand accent immediately putting Zachary on his guard. He wondered why sales-reps and journalists had to talk so perkily, and whether they received special training in smiling down the phone lines. 

“Hi, I’m Karl from Hello! Magazine. Is this Zachary Quinto?” the man asked, for perhaps the second time while proving himself to be a journalist.

“Yeah, I’m Zachary Quinto,” Zachary replied, warily

“Good. I have the distinct pleasure in informing you that you’ve won our competition,“ Karl replied, brightly. 

“What? What competition? I didn’t enter any competition and certainly none from Hello! Magazine. I think you have the wrong number,” Zachary replied, confusion settling deep inside him. “Are you sure it’s Quinto you wanted?” 

“Q - U - I - N - T - O? “ Karl said, as though spelling out his name really made the difference. “As in the photographer?” 

“Yeah, I’m a photographer and that’s how you spell my name, but do you have the right name?” Zachary asked, again. “And who gave you it? I didn’t.” 

“Someone with a Russian name - possibly Yelchin,” Karl replied. “Said he was a friend of yours, calling because you were otherwise indisposed.”

“Anton Yelchin?” Zachary asked, a dark tone creeping into his voice at that. 

“That’s the one,” Karl replied, perkily. “Sounded like a nice fellow. Anyway, congratulations on winning the competition.” 

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zachary replied, impatiently. “Anton might have called you, but I didn’t tell him that he could.” 

“He didn’t tell you? He must have intended it as a surprise, then,” Karl replied, confusion making his already prominent accent ring out all the more. 

“Some surprise,” Zachary mumbled, with a weary sigh.

He’d long since lost count of how many times the terrible duo of Yelchin and Cho had sprung impromptu pranks and unwelcome surprises upon him. He sighed, while the journalist continued as though he hadn’t spoken.

“You’ve won the date with Chris Pine. Aren’t you the luckiest person ever?” Karl said, even more happily than before, if that even was possible. 

“Jesus,” Zachary said, in disbelief. “I’m gonna kill that bastard as soon as I get my hands on him.” 

“Who? Chris Pine?” Karl asked, bright tones now dimmed with worry. 

Zachary wondered then what he’d sounded like; whether he’d come across as a homicidal maniac hell-bent on murdering pretty Hollywood actors, instead of pushy journalists. 

“No, I don’t wanna kill Chris Pine. The very thought of it. I don't even know him. I meant Anton, my so called friend who just set me up,” Zachary growled. “Is there no way I can get out of this? There‘s been some huge mistake.”

“I’m afraid not, sir. The date’s tomorrow night and as such, too late to reschedule with someone else,” the journalist replied. “Be at Ca’Brea restaurant at 7pm, okay? I’m sure you’ll have a great time. Chris is the most charming man you’ll ever meet.”

“Yeah, I’m real sure he is. Guess I’ve got no choice but to find out for myself,” Zachary muttered. “I just hope he’s not disappointed.” 

“I’m sure he won’t be,” Karl replied, happy tones jarring against Zachary‘s suddenly frayed nerves.

“It may have escaped your notice, Karl, but I’m a guy,” Zachary replied, tone turning dark again. “I don’t think my new friend Chris wants a guy.” 

“You’ll be fine. If it doesn’t work out, you always have the option of leaving gracefully, you know,” Karl assured him, brightly. “Good luck!”

“I’m gonna need it, and then some,” Zachary replied, but it was too late.

The journalist had already hung up, leaving him standing there with a buzzing phone pressed to his ear and a sudden faceful of muddy wet dog, as Noah’s paws connected solidly with his shoulders. Zachary yelled at Noah to get down, even as he placed the phone’s receiver back in its cradle once more. He whistled to Noah, before he proceeded to the bathroom with the dog in lolloping, muddy tow.

~~~

Chris Pine sat alone in Ca’Brea restaurant, the rich wood and cream walls surrounding him on all sides. White draped tables were half filled with fellow patrons, quiet voices filling the space between each table. The establishment was muted, tasteful and pleasantly ambient, yet still Chris couldn’t relax. His eyes kept darting to the doorway, checking every last person that crammed inside, half expecting every woman that entered to be his mysterious date. 

Chris felt another frisson of bored irritation filter through him, every sound, every laugh grating on his nerves. He could feel the first tendrils of a headache blossoming in his temples, threatening to take firmer hold if he couldn‘t relax soon. Despite the initial amusement of the competition appealing to his entertainer’s sensibilities, the reality of it was far from a fun ride for Chris. 

He had no doubt he’d have to spend the evening with another blonde Barbie doll type that could only pronounce her own name with some clarity, filtering meaningless drivel with brainless giggles and eyelashes aflutter. Chris groaned at the thought - Hollywood seemed filled to the brim with such types, endless clones who could all have easily been manufactured straight from a factory-line. He shuddered, saved from his own thoughts by the arrival of a glass of white wine to tide him over until his guest arrived.

A red-headed woman entered next, throaty laugh rich and rolling across the hushed music, yet her eyes never sought him out. Even though she was far from the blonde bimbo type - mostly by dint of not actually being blonde and looking more than scarily intelligent - he was still glad she wasn’t his date. The truth was, going on dates with women were a safe bet for him, a front that hid the fact that he wasn’t interested in women at all. 

He rubbed one hand over his forehead, massaging away spikes of migraine pain from his forehead, and looked up when a nervous voice came from nearby, quiet, low, rapidly spoken words in a distinctly male tone.

“Hi, Chris? Or should I call you Mr Pine?” the man asked, hesitantly.

“Chris’ll do fine. Or Christopher if you’re being formal. Why?” Chris asked, turning his gaze up to meet the man’s.

He blinked in surprise, gaze met by warm brown eyes that seemed older than their years, kindness permeating the gentle, forthright gaze. The man had long eyelashes, catching the light behind thick framed glasses, and a smart grey suit adorned his body. Despite the fact that the man was smartly dressed, he looked out of place, ill at ease, as though he was far more used to casual clothing than formal. It didn’t help that the man Chris was looking at was exactly his type. 

“You probably won’t believe me, but I’m your date for the evening?” the man replied, breaking into Chris‘ thoughts, unwittingly. “There was a competition - “

Chris raised one hand to forestall further comment, wondering how the hell things had gone so wrong so quickly. He’d been fearing being trapped with some mindless tart and had gotten a hot guy instead. He didn’t know whether to curse his good fortune or thank his lucky stars. A frown worked across his forehead the longer he stared at his guest, wondering if someone had put him up to this. Chris began to wonder if his agent was playing a prank upon him, landing him with a man he knew Chris would go for just to wind him up. That thought sorely rankled him. 

“Right,” Chris said, tone inflectionless as he tried to figure out a way to deal with the situation. “You got a name?” 

The man looked a little scared, as though he wanted to run and Chris waved him down into the vacant seat opposite him with growing impatience. Chris had decided that he wanted the evening to be over with as soon as possible. It was likely to get awkward very fast, if his sudden, spiking interest was anything to go by. His agent was going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble when Chris finally got his hands on him.

“Zachary, or Zach if you want,” the man replied to Chris‘ earlier question, with a hesitant attempt at a smile. “My friends call me Zach, anyway. I‘m a free-lance photographer.” 

“Whatever, dude. Well, Zachary, I hope you like Italian,” Chris said, shortly, eyes dodging to the doorway as though searching for escape.

Zachary's shoulders slumped, both at the slight at his name and the subsequent direction of Chris’ gaze. 

“Sure. I come from an Italian family. Well, Italian Irish, actually and you probably don’t wanna know this,” Zachary mumbled into his raised hand. 

Chris grunted noncommittally and said nothing further. He examined his napkin, feeling the other man’s gaze heavy upon him, redolent with nervousness and disappointment. 

“So, you’re an actor, huh?” Zachary asked, words a little stuttery and shivering around the edges.

“Yeah,” Chris said, slowly, but didn’t say anything more. 

“Right,” Zachary said, despondently. “Must be really glamorous.” 

“Not as much as you’d think,” Chris said, finally looking up at Zachary. “There’s a lot of standing around.” 

He glanced away at that, despite finding it hard to break his gaze away from the other man’s soulful puppy gaze. There had been a look in the other man’s eyes as though Zachary couldn’t quite believe his luck and yet was having his dreams crushed all at the same time. Chris mentally kicked himself for being an ass-hole, yet found that once he was on a roll, he couldn’t get himself off the slippery slope into douche-ville. 

“Bet you meet a lot of people,” Zachary tried next, to break the unsettling silence between them.

“I guess,” Chris said, with a shrug and fell silent. 

Zachary didn't say anymore, too disheartened by the lack of communications on Chris’ part to speak further. He wondered what he had done wrong , then remembered that it wasn’t anything he’d said, it was what he was. He didn’t think that Chris had really expected nor wanted a man to show up. 

The waiter arrived then, handing both men a menu each, before pouring a drink for Zachary. Once the wine was poured, he retreated to a safe distance to afford them the illusion of privacy. Zachary leafed through his menu, despondent gaze barely making sense of the words sprawled black against white before him. His gaze scanned the words several times, before he found himself looking up into the penetrating gaze of Chris sitting opposite him. Chris looked bored, with a dash of impatience mixed in alongside another emotion that Zachary couldn’t immediately define. Chris blinked and that unknown emotion disappeared, leaving only the boredom and impatience behind. 

“Well?” Chris asked, as he gestured towards the menu Zachary was holding. 

“Prawn linguini,” Zachary said, finally, after randomly choosing an item from the menu.

Chris raised one eyebrow, before he nodded in what could have been appreciation if it had been anyone other than Chris, right then. Zachary sighed and toyed with the idea of just asking Chris what his problem was, but didn’t dare to ask. With the coldness emanating from Chris’ direction, Zachary wasn’t sure he’d get a straight answer, nor a very kind one. 

Chris looked away from Zachary then and Zachary mourned the loss of that penetrating blue gaze. Despite the coldness, Chris did have nice eyes and Zachary knew from seeing pictures of the other man, that the eyes were coupled with an equally nice smile. He wondered then what it would take to bring out that smile, yet he didn’t think anything he could say would ever bring it to light. He reached without looking and knocked Chris’ wine over in his search for his own drink, making the sparkling liquid fizz over the tabletop to stain the cloth with a giant wet patch.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” Zachary said, grimacing and attempting to mop up the mess with his hastily snatched napkin. “I didn’t get you, did I?” 

“No, and it’s lucky for you that you didn’t,” Chris said, clear disapproval in his tone. “Unlike you, I don’t shop in thrift stores.” 

Zachary merely shrugged; even though he felt stung by the obvious insult, he knew that he had been known to shop in thrift stores on occasion, if they had what he particularly wanted. He didn’t class himself as a snob; rather, he was more eclectic in his dress sense. He kept his head down, gaze averted, long fingers fiddling with his soaked napkin while the freshly arrived waiter mopped the mess away. 

Chris ordered another glass of wine once the waiter had finished and his own meal of Spaghetti Bolognese. When it became obvious that Chris wasn’t going to order for Zachary, Zachary looked up and made his own order. The waiter, picking up on the tension prevalent between them, looked to Chris as though he knew who was the responsible party. He gave Zachary a commiserating smile before he walked away.

They sat in silence then, both avoiding each other’s gazes while maintaining a high level of tension between them. Occasionally, Zachary cleared his throat nervously, attracting the odd glare from Chris across the table as though through that one noise, Zachary was offending Chris’ fine sensibilities. Zachary grunted every time and pretended to be interested in the scenes playing out through the window, watching as myriad cars dazzled through the Californian sunlight and people walked past on business of their own. Suddenly, Zachary felt envious of those people; they were free to do as they wished, and didn’t have to put up with icy actors and supposedly genial dinner guests. 

“Look, do you have a problem with me or something?” Chris suddenly asked, breaking the silence between them with a terse question.

Zachary turned to face him then, eyes blinking rapidly behind the shelter of his glasses. 

“Excuse me?” he asked, in disbelief and immediately shut up when the waiter returned with their orders. 

He didn’t speak again, merely waited for Chris to continue his earlier, and rather bizarre, train of thought. Chris didn’t seem to be willing to talk again, mouth too filled with pasta and sauce to even bother. He certainly didn’t look at Zachary again. Zachary resigned himself to another fifteen minutes of silence and began to eat his linguine.

~~~

Chris stole furtive glances at the other man from beneath his brows, not wanting Zachary to catch him openly staring. He mentally kicked himself for acting so rude and cold towards the other man, for he knew that Zachary wasn’t to blame for the whole sorry mess. It wasn’t Zachary who was acting like a douche; instead, he appeared nervous, to the point of knocking over wine glasses in his own skittishness. Chris sighed to himself as he thought again of how horrified by that one occurrence Zachary had been, how ardently he’d apologised, as though he’d genuinely meant his apology. Not many people were so genuine with anything in Chris’ line of work, hard to determine where the acting ended and real life began. 

Zachary seemed normal, organic, genuinely eager to please and to be pleased in turn, no pretences nor wanting anything from him. Chris found that he liked the man, for all the friendliness he hadn’t shown him, yet he found that he also couldn’t snap himself out of his cold attitude once it had started. He winced in pained memory of how he’d asked Zachary if he had a problem with him, wondering what on Earth had possessed him to even ask that question. The kicked puppy look on the other man’s face hadn’t been worth the nasty words. Chris wondered how he was going to get out of the situation he’d dug himself into, suddenly remembering something his mother used to say to him when he was a small boy - you’ve made your bed, now lie in it. Chris had certainly made his own bed and then some. 

He wondered again if this was some highly cosmic joke perpetrated by forces unknown, forcing his hand into outing himself before the public eye. He knew he didn’t want to hide himself away, pretend he was something other than what he was, for he was at risk of turning into something he hated. He didn’t want to be one of those actors who didn’t want to, or know how to turn off the act.

He looked up and caught Zachary staring at him, brown eyes guarded and distinctly wary behind his glasses. The other man turned away when he realized that Chris was now looking at him, an unsatisfied blush creeping over Zachary’s face. Chris mentally kicked himself for being such an ass again and was about to say something, anything to the other man when the waiter returned to their table.

Chris caught the almost reproving glance the waiter gave him, as though even he was blaming Chris for the frosty silence hanging over the table. Chris sighed, ordered two coffees and sat back in his seat, hands laced over his slender abdomen. Zachary had turned to face him again when he’d ordered for both of them, a calculating glance in his eyes that Chris wasn’t sure he liked, as though the other man was now suspicious of him.

“Tonight’s crap, isn’t it?” Chris ventured, with an attempt at a smile.

“Now, I wonder why that is?” Zachary asked, raising one eyebrow at Chris, not looking amused at all. 

“I’ve been a dick,” Chris replied, ruefully, as he carded one hand through his hair, mussing the soft strands into messy spikes. 

“Understatement,” Zachary replied, a soft note of surprise suffusing his words at Chris‘ admission. “Are you like this with everyone, or is it just me?” 

“Uh,” Chris said, before falling silent, not certain as to how to continue.

“Just me then,” Zachary surmised, when Chris didn’t continue. “Guess I’m not what you expected, right?” 

Chris looked up in surprise at that, tongue flickering out to moisten his suddenly too dry and nervous lips. 

“That transparent, huh?” Chris finally asked, raising his eyebrows at the other man helplessly. 

“That’s putting it mildly,” Zachary said, with a vague smile that softened his words a little. “I don’t know whether I should be apologizing for not being your usual type or not.” 

“And you would know my type, how?” Chris asked, with a snort. “That’s a genuine question, not an asshole one, by the way.” 

“Hmm,” Zachary hummed, looking unconvinced by that statement. “I wonder. And I’m hardly some gushing dumb blonde here to pretty up your arm.” 

“That's all a front,” Chris said immediately before groaning slightly, a soft susurration that was clearly audible to Zachary if not to anyone else. 

“A front. So Anton was right, then. You do have a beard,” Zachary said, with a snort, eyebrows raised at Chris‘ unexpected admission.

Chris frowned at that, hand rising to stroke at the slight stubble that decorated his jaw. 

“I know I need a shave, but it’s hardly a beard,” he said, still frowning. “And it’s my usual look when I’m not working.” 

“Not that kind of beard,” Zachary said, before opening his mouth to explain further.

Chris waved his hand around, to forestall further comment, before he spoke again.

“No, I get where you’re coming from,” Chris said, with a sigh. “Let’s just say your friend Anton is right.”

“Oh,” was all Zachary said to that. 

They fell silent again, with Chris picking at his napkin with long fingers, looking uncomfortable and raising bright blue eyes every so often to stare thoughtfully at Zachary. Zachary himself didn’t speak; instead he sat back in his seat and stared at the tabletop. 

“Did my agent send you?” Chris asked suddenly.

“What?” Zachary asked, not really understanding the question.

“Did my agent send you? Is this like a practical joke or something?” Chris asked, feeling uncomfortable beneath Zachary’s genuine confusion.

“Unless your agent is some Kiwi guy called Karl who works for Hello! Magazine, then yeah,” Zachary replied, with a shrug. 

“Karl Urban? No, he’s not my agent. He really does work for Hello!” Chris replied, with a laugh. “Guess this isn’t a joke, then.” 

“No, it isn’t. I’m sorry if you thought of me that way,” Zachary replied, looking and sounding quite insulted.

“You’re not the joke, Zach. I thought my agent was setting me up because I threatened to come out the other day,” Chris said, with a sigh.

“Ah,” Zachary replied, feeling the tension that had tightened his shoulders rolling away from him, leaving him boneless in its wake. 

Neither spoke then, both left staring one to the other wordlessly. 

“I’m sorry,” Chris said, ruefully, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence between them.

“For what? Being an actor or being a douche? I mean, both are mutually exclusive in my book,” Zachary snorted. 

“Both, I guess,” Chris said. “I shouldn’t have been such an ass-hole. I mean, it’s not your fault I have to disguise what I am generally.”

“What, gay?” Zachary said, with a soft and distinctly derisive snort. “I don’t hide it, so why should you?” 

Chris’ gaze rose to stare at Zachary, before the first smile broke out on his face, the smile that Zachary had seen so many times in magazines and interviews. Chris shrugged wordlessly, as though he had no answer for Zachary’s question. Zachary supposed there wasn’t a good answer to that in general, after all. 

“Look, the reason why I’m here today, is because my friends entered me in this stupid-ass competition for a joke and when I get here - “ and Zachary broke off.

“I acted like nothing less than a major ass-hole to you,” Chris finished, with a rueful smile.

“If you wanna say that, then yeah,” Zachary replied, raising both eyebrows at Chris. 

“I already apologized for that,” Chris said. “I’m not usually like that. The thing is, I expected some dumb blonde to come in, I’d have to feign interest even though I wouldn’t have been interested at all, and then just leave after it’s all over and forget about it. Then in you come, looking all hot and unassuming and I didn’t know what to do. I thought this was a set-up.” 

“You think I’m hot?” Zachary repeated, unable to stop himself from grinning at that. 

“Yeah,” Chris said, slowly. 

“Uh, thanks, I guess. And none of this was a set-up at all,” Zachary said. “If it was, I think we’ve both been set up, and not just you.” 

“I realize that, now. Listen, can we start all over?” Chris asked, ruefully. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“No, you got off on the wrong foot. I didn’t,” Zachary corrected, firmly. “Trust me, I would have been fine if you hadn’t been such a dick to me.” 

“Fair enough. I got off on the wrong foot and I‘m a major dick,” Chris conceded, with a slow dip of his head at the other man. “So, can we?” 

Zachary regarded Chris for a while, wondering whether to even give the other man another chance. It wasn’t as though Chris exactly deserved it, yet Zachary found himself wondering how often someone like Chris Pine asked a guy for a second date. 

“Sure,” Zachary finally said, with a sigh. “I’ve got nothing to lose, have I?” 

“Well, don’t sound so put out,” Chris replied, with a small laugh as though to say he deserved that one. 

Zachary smiled wryly at him, and in a way, he agreed with Chris’ silent, unvoiced sentiment. 

“Are you free tomorrow?” Chris asked, reaching out to tap Zachary’s bare wrist hopefully.

Zachary raised his eyebrows at that suddenly familiar gesture, yet pointedly did not pull his hand away from the contact. Chris smiled at that; he took it as a small point in his favour that Zachary was willing to bear even the most minimal of contact from him. 

“No, I’m busy tomorrow night; I’ve got a photo shoot. Perhaps the night after?” Zachary asked. 

“That’s fine,” Chris replied. “Um, d’you wanna meet here again? Maybe at the same time?” 

“Sure,” Zachary said, with his first real smile of the evening. 

Chris grinned back before he said - “You should smile more, you know. You have a nice smile.” 

“Same to you,” Zachary replied, own smile softening around the edges yet he did not look away from Chris‘ face. 

There seemed little else to say after that, so they stood and Chris was insistent upon paying for their meal. Zachary tried to make noises that he wanted to share the cost, that his job as a photographer paid generously, yet Chris seemed adamant upon paying. Chris was the first to move once the bill was settled, leading Zachary from the cosy interior of the restaurant to the bright sunlight of the Californian street. The noise and hustle and bustle seemed noisy and too busy after the dinner they’d just shared, and Zachary welcomed it. Even though the evening had not been a complete washout, he was glad that he was amongst human life once more. 

He wasn’t expecting Chris’ hand upon his shoulder, guiding him to a secluded spot down a side alley. He went, staring at the other man suspiciously, and didn’t move when Chris’ mouth found his own. He felt impossibly soft lips against his, could smell Chris’ cologne and it took him a few long moments for his brain to catch up with his mouth and he started kissing back. That one kiss was loaded with regret, with apology and a sweet innocence that Zachary couldn’t help but smile at, even as he continued kissing the other man. 

Chris pulled away first, hands a warm weight against Zachary’s hips, thumbs pushing up beneath the shirt he wore beneath his suit jacket and skimming against Zachary’s skin. His lips were kiss-bitten and red, and Zachary watched the slow motion of Chris’ tongue sliding over his lower lip, giving the other man a lazy, almost thoughtful look.

“What was that for?” Zachary asked, with an amused smile at Chris. 

“An apology,” Chris said, with an easy shrug.

“Do you always apologize to people by kissing them?” Zachary asked, smile widening into a grin.

“Not usually,” Chris said, with a responding grin. “I made the exception for you, though.” 

Zachary was silent then, before he said - “I’m glad.” 

Chris looked surprised at that, eyebrows raising over an intense gaze as he stared at the other man, breaths huffing out in the space between them and tickling against Zachary's cheek in measured bursts of warm air. 

“Me, too,” Chris said, quietly. “So, meet you two nights from now?” 

“Sure,” Zachary said, easily, before leaning in to press another kiss to Chris’ lips. 

He felt the other man smiling, his body a malleable, biddable weight against his own, eyelashes tickling against Zachary’s cheek every time that Chris moved his head slightly to adjust the angle of the kiss. Zachary felt the teasing tingle of Chris’ tongue against the seam of his lips and he opened up for him, tasting the remnants of pasta and coffee and Chris beneath it all. His brain tried to kick into gear that it was Chris Pine that was kissing him, yet he put that imminent freak out on hold when Chris’ hand shifted, long fingers tickling against bare skin and ending gooseflesh racing across Zachary’s spine. 

He was content to remain there for a while; it didn’t matter how badly the evening had started, it was how it had ended that made all the difference. And if there was more to this to come after the tentative second try-out of the date, then Zachary wasn’t about to complain about that either.

~~ the end ~~ 


End file.
